


Cats and Lonely People

by MaiKusakabe



Category: Shaman King (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Non-Graphic Violence, Patch Hao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: “You let us kill you.”
Relationships: Asakura Hao & Matamune
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Cats and Lonely People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rillant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rillant/gifts).



> Wrote this piece as a (veeery late) gift in the Mankin Secret Santa run by the Funbari Hill and r/Shaman King discord servers.
> 
> I'm very sorry about the delay, life has been crazy busy the last couple months, but I hope you'll like this nonetheless, Rillant. Hao and Matamune were in your request, and I was happy to work with them. So happy, in fact, I kept switching between ideas. It's a bit late to wish you a happy new year, but I hope 2021 is a good year for you :)
> 
> I'd like to thank the mod team for their incredible patience with my constant delays, and especially Rain for taking the time to give this piece a read through.

Humans haven't changed.

During his five hundred years inside the Great Spirit, a small part of Hao built hope that they _would_ change, that humans would have somehow grown better, less driven by greed and cruelty, by the time he returned to life. Hoped there would be something worthwhile in humanity. He spent those years training in the darkest, harshest parts of Hell, thus interacting very little with the newer souls that passed into the afterlife. The few he encountered over that time were fine examples of the worst humanity has to offer, and even he knows better than to take _those_ as examples of the average human being.

Growing up amongst the Patch Tribe encouraged that naïve part of himself Hao's never managed to fully shut down, but then again the Patch Tribe is a small, shaman-led society. Still, the jealousy from those born without the skill to see spirits is small enough amongst the Patch that it led him to believe perhaps some form of cohabitation could be possible between shamans and non-shamans.

The outside world has been a rude wakeup call.

The world hasn't improved over the last five hundred years. If anything, it may be worse than it was, something they learn but a few weeks after leaving the village. Violent conquest has started to spread down in the continent, brought on by the arrival of an army from across the seas. The Priests soon realize these people who have the means to cross the ocean and bring weapons far more advanced anything the local people have ever seen would rather take over their village than fulfill a honorable bargain for passage on one of their ships, driven as they are by their conviction that they bring a better culture and a true God to these lands.

Hao would rather have avoided them altogether, but it is their sacred duty to search for shamans even before they reach the chosen location for the tournament, and thus two of their number carefully scout the invading forces and test what few shamans they find before all ten priests join their powers to create the over soul ship that will see them safely to the other side of the ocean.

(By now, Hao is so used to muffling his power to a level that's considered strong but not worrying by the Tribe that his hold doesn't falter throughout the trip.)

The city of Florence is the location chosen for this edition of the Shaman Fight, a thriving metropolis in the middle of a cultural revolution, where new inventions and art flourish everywhere.

It's a sickening disappointment.

Art is available only to the rich and powerful; inventions rarely reach far enough to improve the living conditions of the poor. The population remains illiterate, even more so than Kyoto's inhabitants were back when Mappa Douji wandered its streets. Indentured servitude or supposedly free people working so many hours they barely have time for food and rest are the norm for anyone unfortunate enough to not have been born into privilege. Social stratification is so pronounced that only unbelievable luck, breathtaking talent, crime, or a beauty so great as to be seen by others as a prize allow people to climb up the ladder.

Sickness, waste, and despair encroach into every corner the splendor of the vaunted Renaissance doesn't reach. The darkness of people's thoughts sullies any beauty that might be found in the city.

If this is the best humanity can offer, the pinnacle of the civilization that spreads throughout this continent and has started to spill into another, then the past five hundred years have brought forth nothing worth salvaging in humans.

The last Shaman King has failed, just as every single one of them did before.

* * *

No matter how many people think they have figured out his intentions, Hao never planned to so much as attempt to become Shaman King in his current incarnation. No, he knows a shaman's power is but a drop in the ocean compared to the immensity that is the Great Spirit, and the Great Spirit would never acquiesce to bond with anyone but the winner of the Shaman Fight. As much as Hao despises the recently crowned Shaman King, he's known he'd have to accept this tournament's outcome from the moment he decided to be reborn into a line of Patch Priests.

It's rather amusing, then, that so many people rushed to protect the victor in his communion with the Great Spirit once Hao left his post as a priest to acquire the Spirit of Fire. As though he would be foolish enough to challenge the new Shaman King when he can simply wait another five hundred years and ascend to the throne the legitimate way.

It would be funnier, perhaps, if the Patch Tribe hadn't taken away his title without bothering to listen to him first. Hao had hoped —rather foolishly, he now knows— that his decades of service would grant him the chance to explain himself. He can't say he is surprised they didn't give it to him. Humans will be humans, no matter the time period, and even shamans fear that which they don't understand. The moment Hao revealed the true extent of his powers he lost his chance to appeal to the other priests. But it doesn't matter. The Patch Tribe owes its loyalty to the Great Spirit and the Shaman King: when Hao is crowned king five hundred years from now they will serve him. Their actions now are irrelevant.

That knowledge doesn’t change the fact the rejection of people he’d tentatively come to regard as friends hurts more than he thought it would.

And yet, had that been the only complication he encountered, he would’ve been almost content. Let all the close-minded shamans cluster around their foolish new king to defend him from a nonexistent threat while Hao approaches more reasonable shamans.

Unfortunately, he's barely approached a few shamans, with mixed results, when everything comes to a halt.

Yohken Asakura's attempt to stop him is no great surprise. Throughout the tournament, Hao has done his best to avoid drawing the attention of the scion of the Asakura Family, but he had to use his Onmyôdô to reach the Spirit of Fire from the land of the living. Onmyôdô techniques —or anything similar enough to disguise them— are not amongst the skills of the Patch Tribe, and the possibility of Asakura drawing the right conclusion about him did cross Hao's mind before he chose to use the techniques anyway.

The battle itself is not unexpected.

Even with his lack of familiarity with the Spirit of Fire, Hao could've killed Asakura easily. He would have, too, had Asakura been alone.

But Yohken Asakura isn't alone, and the moment Matamune makes his presence known Hao understands this is the end of his second life.

He's accomplished his main objective, the Spirit of Fire is his, and will remain bound to him until he releases it. Hao won't sacrifice Matamune's existence in the living world for a chance to gain the loyalty of a handful of shamanic lines that may or may not live long enough to serve him in the next tournament.

Simply because he has no intention to win this fight, though, it doesn't mean Hao will merely bow and let Asakura take his head. No, he will fight, he will test the best the Asakura family has to offer nowadays, will push him to his limits to assess how much of a threat the family is now, and how much they will become the next tournament, now they know of his mastery over death and he has announced his intention to return.

So Hao fights, keeping his attacks shy of deadly, and forces Asakura to push past his limits to win the fight. Had Hao intended to survive this encounter, Asakura's best wouldn't have been enough.

He doesn't, though, and when Asakura puts everything he has left into his next attack, Hao counters with a defense just weak enough for the attack to break through.

Hao doesn't bother to do even that much with Matamune's attack. He won't make him waste anymore furyoku on this useless battle.

He meets Matamune's eyes, and sees the exact moment Matamune realizes Hao will let them win. Matamune's eyes widen, and he barely seems to remember to cushion his landing back on the ground.

(Hao remembers that for all Matamune's disagreements with him towards the end of his first life, he didn't join the Asakura Family in their attack back then).

Being cut down doesn't hurt any less the second time around. Despite his training in Hell and how often he had to all but rebuild himself there, no amount of temporary damage to his soul can compare to the all consuming pain of flesh and bone shattering all over his body, the physical pain overlapping with the burst of emotions that assault him from across the battlefield.

There are Asakura's thoughts, his acceptance of his own death marred by the horror of realizing he wasn't as ready as he thought he was to kill even the ancestor his family despises and fears. It's odd, the remorse over killing someone isn't a mindset Hao has encountered often. He distinctly remembers satisfaction, even some smugness, the last time an Asakura killed him.

Yohken Asakura's thoughts are irrelevant compared to the maelstrom of pain, despair, and self-hatred buzzing in Matamune's mind.

Hao raises his head —he doesn't remember falling backwards— and manages to focus his darkening sight on Matamune.

Matamune has dismissed his over soul. He's frozen mid-step, as though he moved forward without realizing he was doing it, and stopped once he noticed. His eyes remain wide open, tail pulled taut in the air, and he's staring at Hao. The horror and self-hatred pouring out of him intensify, joined by a twisted shade of the love Hao still remembers so fondly, now wrapped in sadness.

Hao opens his mouth. He wants to ask why Matamune is here, why he fought Hao if it hurts him so much to watch him die now, but there is too much blood in his mouth, and all Hao manages to do is choke on it when he tries to speak, then cough it all over himself in a vain attempt to clear his airway.

Matamune startles forward, and freezes again when Asakura falls to the ground behind him.

The horror in Matamune's mind overtakes all other emotions when he takes in Yohken Asakura's condition, its strength such it would no doubt choke a living being, and for the first time in five hundred years, Hao _regrets_.

He wanted to test the Asakura Family, yes, but he's never wanted to hurt Matamune, no matter which side of this conflict each of them stand in. Had he known Matamune _cared_ for this Asakura past the alliance to defeat a common foe, had he _paid attention_ instead of focusing so much on figuring out the Spirit of Fire, then Hao wouldn't have pushed Asakura this far. He would've let him survive the fight, Asakura’s survival unimportant to Hao’s plans, if only to spare Matamune the pain of losing a friend like this.

A second friend.

That foolishly naïve part of him still clings to the notion that Matamune’s remaining love for him means their friendship was true; not only true, but that perhaps Matamune still sees Hao as a friend.

It's too late now —Hao can't focus his sight, much less muster the concentration necessary for healing— and Hao can do nothing but succumb to his injuries, knowing this battle will be what he wakes up to in Hell.

He doesn't know if he bleeds out or chokes in his own blood, but Hao clings to the feeling of Matamune's mind until death claims him.

It’s comforting, in a truly twisted way, to die in the presence of someone who cares this time.

* * *

“You let us kill you.” Those are Matamune’s first words to Hao, hours after he arrived at the Shaman King’s society inside the Great Spirits.

They’ve sat in silence for hours, ever since his mother and Ohachiyo left to give them some privacy to talk when Matamune first arrived. All they have done so far is stare at the vast blankness around them, barely looking at each other for more than a quick instant. Hao doesn’t remember things ever being this bad, not when Matamune was a prickly kitten who’d hiss at anyone but Hao approaching him; not even when Hao set out on his path to become Shaman King the first time around and Matamune refused to join him as his partner spirit because they already disagreed on a fundamental level on what the Shaman King should do to improve the world.

“I didn’t want to destroy you,” Hao says honestly.

“At the time, I would’ve preferred it if you did.”

“…I know. I realized too late.”

Not anymore, Hao knows, not since Matamune met Yoh and set out on this mad quest to stop Hao.

Hao doesn’t need reishi to know they’re both just as shocked it has succeeded, at least for now.

They fall silent again. Hao has no idea what to say, and he doubts Matamune does, either. Questions and requests for reassurance are meaningless: for all the sins Hao has committed, subterfuge is something he’s never bothered with, unless one counts his time as a Patch as a lie (it wasn’t; whatever the Tribe and the world at large chose to believe afterwards, Hao took his duty as a Priest seriously, and never intended to jeopardize the progression of that Shaman Fight with his own plans —that is, after all, the only reason Hao waited for a winner to be named before he made his move on the Spirit of Fire, even if that meant that afterwards he had to go looking for those participants who had fallen out of the tournament and didn’t stay to watch its conclusion). Their past is riddled with too much pain and betrayal for Hao to want to talk about it now, even if he knows they will have to dredge everything up at some point to clear the waters.

Something scratches his arm, and Hao turns back to Matamune, wondering at the lack of words, only to find he has changed the way he manifests himself. Instead of the worldly cat, with his clothes and his pipe, the same stray Hao found so long ago amongst the trash and his dead siblings is crouched at his side.

Matamune jumps into Hao’s lap, where he proceeds to settle himself and curl up in place, not unlike what he used to do before Hao selfishly kept his soul in the living world and gave him new means to interact with it.

Hao reaches up, runs a hand over Matamune’s back before moving his fingers to scratch behind his ears, and Matamune lets out a contented purr.

They don’t talk anymore that day, not even that week, but having Matamune resting on his lap and letting himself be petted is the most peaceful Hao has felt in longer than he cares to think about. Perhaps, despite everything, they will find a way past the pain that lies between them, perhaps their friendship can still be salvaged.

He hopes so.

**Author's Note:**

> My inner history nerd went a little out there in the first scene. I also may have developed a list of potential cities where previous Shaman Fights could've been held, as well as why they were chosen instead of some other candidates at the time.


End file.
